We Lost and Not Together
by Guild of Scribes
Summary: The world was falling apart, and Steve could hear it. He could see it in the eyes of nearly every person he crossed paths with; the other eyes he met were dead, but he couldn't help but think, "At least they're there."


**We Lost and Not Together**

_By Emparra_

Disclaimer: this story has been disclaimed. The writer only plays in someone else's sandbox. See bio. for extended details.

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The world was falling apart, and Steve could hear it. He could see it in the eyes of nearly every person he crossed paths with; the other eyes he met were dead, but he couldn't help but think, "_At least they're there_". He could feel it, in the earth under his feet. He could smell it: acrid, bloody, burning in the air. Most of all, he felt it in the dust that lined his hands, stuck in his fingernails, and in the empty ache of a heart that somehow still pounded in his chest.

As he had passed the weary Wakandans in the halls, he'd met every pair of eyes with a quiet nod; acknowledging their pain, respecting it with silence. The Queen Mother had left her son's hand of welcome extended to the motley group of heroes she found in her country; bruised, shaken, and mourning, she had pressed Steve's hand between her small, strong dark ones and promised him her aid and support. He had fought with her son, and paid a high price for protecting the world.

Now, he stood in the shower as blessedly warm water streamed over him, washing away the dirt, sweat and filth of battle, soothing the aches, and lulling a tightly wound body into rest.

Oh, how he was tired. Body, mind, soul; all were stretched so far with too little to snap back with.

" _I real__ly miss the days when the weirdest thing science ever created was me._"

The words suddenly flashed in his mind. That day seemed so very long ago, when all was still relatively "normal". Or rather, as normal as things could be to a man displaced by nearly a century. He nearly smiled at the thought, remembering the looks on the faces of the men present when he'd been transformed. He wondered what they would think of him now; ninety-nine and still looking twenty-three, a fugitive from his own country that he'd fought for, his best friend once a hydra operative... best not think about that now.

Shaking himself, Steve reached for soap. As he lathered up his hair, he wondered just _what_ they would do now. Half of the world, the universe, was gone. With a mere snap, billions of people were erased from existence, leaving their loved ones bewildered and mourning. How could this even be? Half the Avengers were gone; he had no idea where Tony was, if he was still alive. God... his mother had told him as a child to never let the sun set on an argument. It was a sin, she'd said. He hadn't even spoken to Tony for a year. God knew he didn't regret his decision, but He also knew Steve hated the consequences, the wounded relationships, families separated, physical and emotional damage done. He begged forgiveness, though he didn't feel deserving of it, not from anyone, not the least of which God.

Closing his eyes, Steve rinsed away the soap and reached for a scrub, as though he could wash away the events of the day along with the dirt and blood. He was so tired...

By now his whole body ached from the battle and combing through the dead that remained on the field, his mind was filling with the horrors he'd seen, and his heart swelled and sank, fit to burst. The wails of the world filled his ears, rang in his mind, overwhelming his oh-so-tired heart so suddenly. His knees wobbled beneath him. He sank to the white floor of the shower, hugging his knees. The world faded and his mind seemed to scream, "No more!" and he wept. For his friends, for his loved ones, for his world, for his time, for the people he could not save, for the people left behind. Even for himself.

The Avengers had fallen. They had lost, and they hadn't even been together in the end, spread across the world and into space.

Quietly, too weary for anything more, Steve sat on the hard floor of the shower and cried as the spray washed away the grime and the tears. His heart ached with all the things he had buried inside and now had spilled over; it was too much. He was, after all, only human.

When he was all spent, and there was not another tear left to shed, Steve scrubbed his face with his hands and turned off the water. He dried and dressed, dragged himself to the bed and curled on his side, looking blearily out the window.

The sun still shone, though it had begun to set; the colors were brilliant.

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Finess.


End file.
